When life is fully ripened are not we <br />What we remember, as our hearts enfold <br />The beauty closed within like hoarded gold— <br />Far music of a love that could not be, <br />Old sorrows that are sweet in reverie? <br />Deep, deep within, the wonder is retold, <br />As whorly shells or ancient pinewoods hold <br />The memory of the voices of the sea. <br /> <br />Day dies, and night has still her faithful stars, <br />Seen better than with youth's impatient sight. <br />Brighter for darkness comes each loyal beam, <br />And through this life's uncomprehended bars <br />The flooding beauty of unearthly light <br />And drift of golden shadows in our dream.<br /><br />George Sterling<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/compensation-14/
